LINCOLN 

AND  OTHERS 


THOMAS  CURTIS  CLARK 


LINCOLN  ROOM 


UNIVERSITY  OF  ILLINOIS 
LIBRARY 


1> 


c; 


<y 


LINCOLN  AND  OTHERS 

THOMAS  CURTIS  CLARK 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2012  with  funding  from 

University  of  Illinois  Urbana-Champaign 


http://archive.org/details/lincolnothersOOclar 


LINCOLN 

AND  OTHERS 

THOMAS  CURTIS  CLARK 


NEW  NlM?  YORK 
GEORGE  H.  DORAN  COMPANY 


Cofyright,  1923y 
By  George  H.  Doran  Company 


LINCOLN    AND    OTHERS.     II 


PRINTED    IN    THE    UNITED    STATES    OF   AMERICA 


TO 

MY  MOTHER 


Grateful  acknowledgment  is  hereby  made  to 
The  Living  Church,  The  Christian  Century,  The 
Boston  Transcript,  The  Chicago  Tribune,  The 
Chicago  Post  and  other  publications  in  which 
many  of  the  poems  included  in  this  book  origi- 
nally appeared;  also  to  James  T.  White  &  Com- 
pany, New  York,  for  permission  to  reprint  a 
number  of  poems  first  published  in  my  earlier 
volume,  "Love  Off  to  the  War  and  Other 
Poems." 


[vii] 


CONTENTS 

I 

PAGE 

Lincoln 

15 

The  Miracle 

16 

At  G  entry  ville 

17 

Greatheart 

18 

At  Gettysburg 

19 

The  Democrat 

20 

The  Tragedy 

21 

The  Revelation 

22 

The  Hand  of  Lincoln 

23 

The  Christian 

24 

The  Master 

25 

The  World's  Verdict 

II 

26 

Shackleton 

29 

Theodore  Roosevelt,  Warrior 

30 

To  Carl  Sandburg 

31 

To  Walt  Whitman 

32 

Shakespeare 

33 

In  Shakespeare's  Town 

34 

[ix] 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

On  Rereading  Keats 

35 

To  Homer,  Poet  Eternal 

36 

A  Song  for  Morning 

37 

When  April  Comes 

38 

Spring  Song 

39 

April 

40 

Song 

42 

Apocalypse 

43 

Friendliness 

44 

In  Blossom-Time 

45 

Poet  to  Cynic 

46 

To  John  Burroughs 

47 

Blind 

48 

The  Poet's  Call 

49 

To  Wordsworth 

50 

Blind  Eyes 

5i 

Up  and  Down  the  River 

52 

King  of  an  Acre 

54 

Dawn 

56 

Fundamentals 

57 

The  Kingdom 

58 

Hut  Happiness 

59 

To  a  Thousand  Year  Old  Elm 

60 

Corn 

61 

Romance 

63 

Humdrum 

64 

Pilots 

65 

w 


CONTENTS 

Release 

PAGE 

66 

Prayer  of  the  Poor 

67 

With  Gratitude  for  "Leaves  of  Grass" 

68 

The  Lonely  Way 

69 

The  Procession 

70 

To  the  Poets 

71 

To  Quintus  Horatius  Flaccus 

72 

The  Builder 

73 

The  Eternal 

74 

"Paradise  Enow" 

75 

The  Day  Is  Brief 

76 

Spectres 

77 

If  Winter  Comes 

78 

Lyric 

79 

Winter  Harvest 

80 

Trust  the  Great  Artist 

81 

Evidence 

82 

Revelation 

84 

In  Memory 

85 

Revolt 

86 

In  an  Age  of  Science 

87 

Time 

88 

The  Melting  Pot 

89 

Upon  Reading  a  Volume  of  Ancient  Chinese 

Poetry 

90 

[xi] 


I— 


Lincoln 


Wise  with  the  wisdom  of  ages, 
Shrewd  as  a  man  of  trade, 

Grim  as  the  prophets  and  sages, 
Keen  as  a  damask  blade; 

Firm  as  a  granite-ribbed  mountain, 
Tender  as  woman's  song, 

Gay  as  a  scintillant  fountain — 
Yet  was  he  oaken-strong. 

Here,  the  wonder  of  aons: 
Born  unto  pain  and  strife; 

Dead,  fmid  a  thousand  paans, 
Deathless,  he  enters  life. 


[15] 


LINCOLN    AND    OTHERS 

The  Miracle 

The  wild  Kentucky  hills  were  touched  of  God, 
And  lo !  a  child  was  born.     His  sires,  unknown, 
Dreamed  not  that  God  would  for  their  tears  atone 
By  raising  from  their  midst  a  king.     The  sod 
On  which  they  walked  was  cursed  to  them, 
Begrudging  them  their  bread,  for  all  their  toil; 
But  it  was  holy  ground;  for  from  that  soil 
Should  come  a  chosen  one;  the  diadem 
Upon  his  brow  should  be  no  piece  of  gold, 
But,  like  his  lowly  Lord's,  a  thorny  crown. 
Upon  his  cross  he  died;  they  took  him  down, 
And  lo !  they  found,  before  the  day  was  old, 
That  they  had  crucified  their  one  true  friend: 
Despite  their  hate,  he  loved  them  to  the  end. 


[16] 


LINCOLN    AND    OTHERS 

At  Gentryville 

From  these  dark  streets  flamed  forth   a  brilliant 

light, 
This  miry  clay  produced  a  mighty  tree, 
From  this  rude  town  emerged  the  bravest  knight 
That  ever  fought  for  human  liberty. 
Can  it  have  been  he  found  his  splendid  dream 
Amid  these  shacks,  where  giant  rats  run  wild? 
Perhaps  from  heaven  a  high,  prophetic  gleam 
Ensnared  his  heart,  the  while  he  thought  and  smiled. 
This  very  spot  was  where  he  laughed  and  talked; 
They  say  he  whittled,  whiling  hours  away. 
His  naked  feet  these  slimy  alleys  walked, 
And  in  this  hut,  perhaps,  he  learned  to  pray. 
This  is  the  tale  of  tales  since  time  began — 
How  squalor  travailed  and  brought  forth  a  man! 


[17] 


LINCOLN    AND    OTHERS 

Greatheart 

They  took  small  note  of  him,  the  great,  the  wise, 

the  rich, 
Who   saw  him  come   from  Illinois,   a   wild,   crude 

State — 
A  country  lawyer  to  decide  a  Nation's  fate ! 
They  held  him  foolish  to  accept  so  high  a  niche — 
What,  President !     Unkempt,  unlearned  and  unre- 
fined 
They  called  him,  and  withdrew  for  private  talk. 
They  joked  about  his  ancestry,  and  by  his  walk 
They  feigned  to  guess  his  farmer  lineage.     How 

blind 
Were  they  who  could  not  see  the  fire  that  burned 

within 
Those  glowing  eyes,  who  failed  to  note  the  mighty 

strength 
Of   those   toil-hardened   arms!      His   gaunt   limbs' 

sprawling  length 
Should  have  proclaimed  to  them  a  giant's  stride! 

Their  sin 
Was  not  to  know  the  great,  enduring  heart  of  him, 
Our  most  beloved,  whose  fame  the  ages  cannot  dim. 


[18] 


LINCOLN    AND    OTHERS 

At  Gettysburg 

The  whole  world  came  to  hear  him  speak  that  day 
And  all  the  ages  sent  their  scribes  to  see 
And  hear  what  word  the  new  land  had  to  say 
Of  God  and  man  and  truth  and  liberty. 
Homer  was  there  and  Socrates  and  Paul, 
Shakespeare  and  Luther,  Pitt,  Cavour  and  Bright, 
With  Washington — stanch  friends  of  freedom  all; 
Nor  did  he  fail:  he  lifted  there  a  light 
For  all  the  earth  to  see,  from  fires  of  truth 
That  surged  within  his  breast.  Yet  that  crude  throng 
Of  men  knew  not  that  through  this  man  uncouth 
God  spake  as  through  old  prophets,  stern  and  strong. 
They  turned  away,  these  men,  but  angels  bent 
From  heaven  to  hear  those  flaming  words,  God-sent. 


[19] 


LINCOLN    AND    OTHERS 

The  Democrat 

Upon  him  fell  a  heritage  of  hate, 

And  he,  who  loved  the  fields  of  rustling  corn, 

Took  up  the  load;  and  then  a  thought  was  born — 

A  thought  that  soon  would  shake  the  walls  of  state 

The  dream  was  his,  that  government  should  be 

Unselfish  as  the  morning  sun; 

Unwearying,  alert,  lest  wrong  be  done 

To  any  man  or  child.     No  vanity 

Of  pomp  or  power  could  move  him  from  his  will 

To  champion  the  cause  of  truth  in  public  life. 

He  bent  him  to  his  task;  but  in  the  strife 

That  noble  form  was  felled.     His  foes  could  kill 

The  mortal  man,  they  could  not  stay  his  dream, 

Which  now,  on  darkened  earth,  casts  far  its  gleam. 


[20] 


LINCOLN    AND    OTHERS 

The  Tragedy 

The  wisdom  of  old  Plato  was  in  him; 
Isaiah's  vision  lit  his  way  of  life ; 
A  strength  like  mighty  Samson's  met  the  strife 
His  day  decreed:  and  still  he  was  not  grim, 
For  in  his  face  the  love  of  Jesus  shone, 
And  in  his  hand  was  grace  and  tenderness; 
He  had  no  thought  except  to  give  and  bless, 
His  human  smile  could  melt  a  heart  of  stone. 
And  yet,  alas!  he  walked  a  path  of  woe; 
Despised,  accursed,  he  wore  a  thorny  crown; 
When  all  the  world  proclaimed  his  high  renown, 
A  madman's  bullet  hissed  and  laid  him  low. 
One  other  crime  was  dastardly  as  this — 
When  Judas  damned  his  Savior  with  a  kiss. 


[21] 


LINCOLN    AND    OTHERS 

The  Revelation 

He  walked  among  us  and  we  passed  him  by 
And  thought  him  but  a  country  lawyer,  crude 
As  our  red  prairies  are,  and  more  than  rude, 
Who  revelled  in  his  jokes  and  deviltry. 
We  could  not  know  the  heart  within  that  breast 
Until  the  blood  flowed  freely  from  the  wound 
A  traitor  made;  then  was  it  that  we  found 
That  God  had  loaned  us  for  a  time  His  Best. 
And  now  the  nations,  since  their  kings  are  gone, 
Have  taken  him  across  the  wide-flung  sea 
To  rule  their  hearts  as  well  as  ours;  to  be 
The  goal  of  their  desires,  with  breaking  dawn. 


[22] 


LINCOLN    AND    OTHERS 

The  Hand  of  Lincoln  x 

This  hand  grew  strong  by  felling  stubborn  trees 
That  barred  the  way  of  freedom  for  our  sires; 
And  here  in  Illinois  it  lit  the  fires 
That  should  destroy  those  age-long  dynasties 
Of  vested  right  and  selfish  power  that  broke 
The  spirit  of  a  race.     He  saw  their  grief 
With  deep,  sad  eyes,  and  vowed  their  sure  relief- 
And  then  the  Voice  of  God  and  Freedom  spoke! 
This  hand  clinched  hard  the  tyrant's  rod  of  hate 
And  tore  it  from  his  grasp.     A  people's  prayer 
Went  up  to  God,  who  seeing  their  despair 
Had  sent  to  them  a  Friend  both  good  and  great. 


1  Written  after  viewing  a  cast  of  Lincoln's  right  hand. 

[23] 


LINCOLN    AND    OTHERS 

The  Christian 

His  foes  declared  him  blasphemous,  perverse, 
Ignoring  God  and  heedless  of  His  word. 
They  said  he  lacked  in  fineness,  who  preferred 
To  market  jokes,  rude  stories  to  rehearse. 
He  was  no  white-robed  saint:  a  strong  man  he 
Who  loved  to  wrestle  with  the  devil's  brood 
That  lurked  behind  the  fashions  of  the  good. 
He  scorned  all  shams,  and  for  hypocrisy 
He  held  a  hatred  such  as  Christ  alone, 
The  scourge  of  haughty  Pharisees,  could  know. 
Those  painted  masks  of  Christians  felt  his  blow, 
And  at  his  blameless  name  each  cast  a  stone. 
Not  by  their  words,  but  by  their  fruits,  said  He, 
Who  also  knew  the  sting  of  calumny. 


[24] 


LINCOLN    AND    OTHERS 

The  Master 

We  need  him  now — his  rugged  faith  that  held 
Fast  to  the  rock  of  truth  through  all  the  days 
Of  toil  and  strife,  the  sleepless  nights;  upheld 
By  very  God  was  he — that  God  who  stays 
All  hero-souls  who  will  but  trust  in  Him, 
And  trusting,  labour  as  if  God  were  not. 
His  eyes  beheld  the  stars,  clouds  could  not  dim 
Their  glory;  but  his  task  was  not  forgot: 
To  keep  his  people  one;  to  hold  them  true 
To  that  fair  dream  their  fathers  willed  to  them- 
Freedom  for  all;  to  spur  them;  to  renew 
Their  hopes  in  bitter  days;  strife  to  condemn. 
Such  was  his  task,  and  well  his  work  was  done — 
Who  willed  us  greater  tasks,  when  set  his  sun. 


[25] 


LINCOLN    AND    OTHERS 

The  World's  Verdict 

One  sent  out  his  ships  to  earth's  farthest  shores, 
And  brought  to  his  coffers  the  Orient's  stores; 

The  wild  desert  sands 

Became  gold  in  his  hands; 
And  the  world  called  him  Genius — and  wondered. 

One  sought  out  the  secrets  of  planet  and  star; 
He  revelled  in  problems  of  granite  and  spar; 

He  hungered  to  know 

All  the  earth  could  bestow; 
And  the  world  called  him  Scholar — and  praised  him. 

One  looked  on  a  suffering,  down-trodden  race; 
He  wept  as  he  gazed  upon  each  troubled  face; 

He  heeded  their  plea, 

And  he  set  their  hands  free; 
And  the  world  called  him  Brother — and  loved  him. 


[26] 


II 


Shackleton 

Your  goal  was  not  some  island  of  the  blest, 

A  zone  of  gardens,  sweet  with  pink  and  chrome; 

You  had  no  thought  to  find  at  last  a  home 

Where  you  might  pause,  by  labours  unopprest: 

Fearless  and  strong,  you  set  upon  your  quest; 

Ice-fanged  the  ways  that  lured  your  dauntless  ship, 

Endless  the  night  that  held  you  in  its  grip, 

But  stout  the  heart  that  beat  within  your  breast. 

You  were  of  Norman  breed,  bold  viking  soul; 

You  rode  the  icebergs  as  a  summer  sea; 

Their  crystal  peaks,  their  cold,  strange  mystery 

Lured  on  and  on — then  death  revealed  your  goal: 

You  dropped  your  anchor,  dared  the  ghastly  shade, 

And  faced  your  Captain,  calm  and  unafraid. 


[29] 


LINCOLN    AND    OTHERS 

Theodore  Roosevelt,  Warrior 

In  early  years  your  valiant  fight  began, 
When  in  the  wilds  you  sought  the  boon  of  health; 
Your  spirit  then  revealed  a  brimming  wealth 
Of  faith  and  force,  which  told  the  coming  man. 
In  later  days,  more  confident  and  strong, 
You  chose  to  serve  where  public  storms  were  rife: 
You  strove  with  zeal  to  free  the  Nation's  life 
From  lust  of  office,  greed  and  vested  wrong. 
When  flames  of  war  enveloped  half  the  world, 
When  truth  was  throttled  by  a  crazy  king, 
You  seized  the  lash,  and  whipped  us,  loitering, 
And  roused  our  might,  till  hell  was  backward  hurled. 
You  proved  a  victor  to  your  last  life  breath; 
You  could  not  stay  the  subtle  warrior,  Death. 


[30] 


LINCOLN    AND    OTHERS 

To  Carl  Sandburg 

Your  songs  are  born  of  tragedy  and  moil; 
Not  yours  the  lyrics  of  romantic  love,  < 
Light  sung;  your  muse  is  not  a  woodland  dove 
With  poignant  notes  of  loveliness.     Hard  toil 
And  bending  backs  and  bitter  oaths  you  sing. 
You  chant  the  fears  of  fathers,  homeless,  worn; 
You  sing  the  tears  of  mothers,  anxious,  torn 
By  poverty;  and  children,  whom  the  sting 
Of  winter  marks  for  early  death — they  lift 
Their  hearts  to  you.     Yours  is  the  priceless  gift 
Of  sympathy;  you  crave  for  men  the  bloom 
Of  life,  its  roses  and  its  songs.     You  doom 
With  your  strong  voice  the  robbers  of  the  marts 
Who  build  their  wealth  on  shards  of  human  hearts. 


[31] 


LINCOLN    AND    OTHERS 

To  Walt  Whitman 

You  had  no  zest  for  lilting  roundelays 

Of  perfumed  love  and  highly  spiced  romance; 

Your  thought  was  anchored  in  the  wide  expanse 

Of  universal  being.     Let  the  praise 

For  slender  songs  and  sonnets  be  to  those 

Who  know  not  high  adventure,  smug,  content 

To  be  within  life's  study-windows  pent, 

Past  which  no  wind  of  great  emotion  blows. 

Your  thought  was  tidal,  and  your  dreams  were 

drenched 
With  seas  tempestuous  and  thunder-rocked. 
Your  arm  with  Neptune's  arm  was  interlocked 
As  you  strode — then  as  now — with  youth  un- 

quenched. 
No  idle  singer  of  an  empty  day, 
You  hold,  with  sun  and  stars,  your  cosmic  way. 


[32] 


LINCOLN    AND    OTHERS 

Shakespeare 

On  Avon's  bank  he  dwelt,  yet  in  his  heart 
He  carried  all  the  world  of  mortal  men. 
His  fellows  were  no  more  within  his  ken 
Than  Antony  and  Caesar.     He  was  part 
Of  mankind's  cosmos,  and  no  soul  was  strange 
To  him.    The  jealous  Moor,  Macbeth  the  king 
Of  blood,  the  luckless  Jew,  all  suffering 
The  pangs  of  this  earth  life,  were  in  the  range 
Of  his  great  heart;  and  with  sad  Hamlet  he, 
Our  chief  philosopher,  would  read  the  scroll 
Of  human  life  aright.     The  tortured  soul 
Of  Lear  brought  grief  to  him,  in  sympathy 
The  greatest  of  them  all  who,  English-bred, 
Have  been  by  all  mankind  inherited. 


[33] 


LINCOLN    AND    OTHERS 

In  Shakespeare  s  Town 

In  this  old  town,  by  Avon's  quiet  stream, 

Great  Shakespeare   dwelt,    and  built,   of   fact   and 

dream, 
His  deathless  plays.     Within  these  simple  walls 
He  sat  and  mused,  and  lo !  dark  castle  halls, 
High  palaces  and  gruesome  caves  were  there, 
To  tell  their  tales  of  lords  and  ladies  fair, 
Of  clowns  and  shepherds;   fairies  swarmed  about, 
Dread  armies  thronged  and  put  their  kings  to  rout; 
And  even  witches  hovered  at  his  side 
With  presage  dire;  fair  maidens  loved  and  died, 
And  mad  philosophers  held  forth  with  him 
In  argument  of  life;  in  battles  grim 
Brave    knights    went    down,     while    cruel    lances 

gleamed — 
Thus    life    went    by,    while    Shakespeare    sat    and 

dreamed. 


[34] 


LINCOLN    AND    OTHERS 

On  Rereading  Keats 

The  dew  was  on  your  brow,  fair  child  of  dawn; 

Your  vision  was  unwearied  by  the  day, 

Which  wears  upon  us  sore  who  tread  the  way 

From  youth  to  age.     Earth's  woe  lay  light  upon 

Your  buoyant  heart,  which  had  the  native  grace 

To  carry  spring  into  the  winter  drear. 

Life's  discords  changed  to  music  for  your  ear, 

As  sorrow  bloomed  in  smiles  upon  your  face. 

Ah !  would  your  gift  were  ours,  whose  souls  are  dead, 

Slain  by  the  subtle  fiends  of  greed  and  pride; 

Love  on  a  golden  cross  is  crucified, 

And  from  the  harp  of  life  the  song  has  sped. 

Breathe  into  us,  who  faint,  your  vital  breath; 

Release  our  spirits  from  the  gyves  of  death. 


[35] 


LINCOLN    AND    OTHERS 

To  Homer,  Poet  Eternal 

They  said,  O  Grecian  bard,  that  you  were  blind, 
But  they  were  wrong  who  spread  that  foolish  tale. 
Your  eyes  saw  far;  no  narrow  Attic  vale 
Could  bar  your  view;  as  freely  as  the  wind 
Your  vision  scanned  the  utmost  bounds  of  earth; 
Time's  bulwarks  fell  before  your  magic  gaze, 
And  lo !  you  glimpsed  all  life.    These  latest  days 
Applaud  you :  seven  cities  claim  your  birth, 
O  bard,  a  thousand  cities  hold  you  dear. 
Your  reach  is  as  the  goings  of  the  sun, 
Which  scorns  no  distant  nook.  Your  course  shall  run 
Still  on  and  on,  until  the  last  dim  year 
When  man  shall  be  no  more,  when  time  shall  be 
A  scroll  rolled  up,  and  lost  eternally. 


[36] 


LINCOLN    AND    OTHERS 

A  Song  for  Morning 

Makers  of  poems  limpid  and  lilting, 
Strummers  of  tunes  romantic  and  tearful, 
Learn  the  fresh  music  of  mountains  gigantic, 
Heed  the  wild  runes  of  the  free-bounding  rivers; 
Hark  to  the  corn  song  that  bursts  from  the  prairie- 
Song  old  as  nature,  dewy  as  morning, 
Song  everlasting,  regenerating, 
Sung  by  our  sires  in  pioneer  cabins, 
Hummed  by  our  mothers,  by  Indians  threatened, 
Over  the  cradles  of  bourgeoning  peoples. 

Learn  the  new  chants  of  times  democratic, 
Free  as  the  ocean,  strong  as  the  tempest; 
Sing  the  new  life  of  comrades  close-tethered; 
Sing  the  new  love  that  leaps  over  mountains, 
Crossing  the  sea  and  flooding  like  sunrise. 

Makers  of  poems  limpid  and  lilting, 
Leave  the  old  tunes  of  vanishing  nations, 
Learn  the  fresh  songs  of  a  new  world  affection, 
Chant  the  new  music  of  brothers  and  lovers. 


[37] 


LINCOLN    AND    OTHERS 

When  April  Gomes 

When  April  comes,  and  on  the  air 
Is  wafted  forth  an  incense  rare 
Which  tells  of  gardens  lately  blown, 
Of  orchard  trees  with  beauty  strown, 
The  pink  of  apple,  peach  and  pear, — 
Then  earth  becomes  a  place  so  fair 
That  men  forget  their  weight  of  care; 
For  who  could  nurse  a  heart  of  stone 
When  April  comes! 

Then  happiness  is  everywhere, 
Our  very  breathing  kills  despair. 
Although  we  know  some  glad  hopes  sown 
Shall  still  be  hopes,  with  summer  flown, 
Yet  smiles  and  posies  shall  we  wear, 
When  April  comes. 


[38] 


LINCOLN    AND    OTHERS 

Spring  Song 

With  my  ear  pressed  to  the  earth, 

Long  I  held  my  breath  and  listened, 
Till  the  last  snow  flurry  fled, 

And  the  last  frost  blossom  glistened; 
And  I  heard  it,  yes,  I  heard  it, 

Heard  her  voice  of  mirth  and  laughter; 
And  I  saw  her  tripping  toward  me 

With  her  rose  girls  coming  after — 
Spring,  the  queen  of  love  and  longing, 
With  her  nymphs  of  beauty  thronging. 

As  she  sped  along  the  path, 

Sunbeams  hastened  to  caress  her; 
And  the  gentle  winds,  long  prisoned, 

Vied,  impassioned,  to  possess  her; 
Violets,  forget-me-nots, 

Bloodroot  and  anemones, 
Sprang  from  every  spot  she  touched, 

And  the  barren  apple  trees 
Burst  again  in  tinted  glory 
Freed  from  Winter's  sceptre  hoary. 


[39] 


LINCOLN    AND    OTHERS 

April 

For  lyric  springtime  we  have  waited  long 
Whose  hearts  as  well  as  heads  have  felt  the  blast: 
From  sorrowing  our  lips  had  lost  their  song 
Till  April  topped  the  hill  and  brought  at  last 
The  welcome   news,   which  made   our  hearts  beat 

fast — 
The  news  that  winter  had  been  bound  and  slain, 
That  spring  and  song  and  joy  were  come  to  earth 

again. 


And  now  that  April,  with  her  birds,  is  here, 
All  care  shall  be  forgot;  sweet  song  shall  lead 
Through  waking  orchards,  where  the  dawning  year 
Prepares  a  feast  of  beauty  for  our  need. 
Our  feet  rejoice  to  press  the  freshening  mead 
As  we  again  explore  the  land  of  dreams, 
Of  gay  romance,  by  youthtime's  clear  and  singing 
streams. 


The  north  wind  lurks  no  more;  he  journeys  now 

Beyond  the  hostile  reaches  of  the  sun, 

Who  soon,  for  our  delight,  shall  trim  each  bough 

[40] 


LINCOLN    AND    OTHERS 

With  rose  and  snow.     He  yields  in  power  to  none, 
That  kingly  orb  of  light:  his  race  begun, 
The  fields  shall  laugh  again,  all  tongues  shall  sing, 
And  heaven  itself  rejoice  in  earth's  new  blossoming. 


[41] 


Song 


LINCOLN    AND    OTHERS 


I  said  in  my  heart, 
My  lonely  heart, 

"All  love  is  dead"; 
But  behold!  a  friend 
Brought  a  wealth  of  cheer, 

And  gave  me  bread. 

I  said  in  my  heart, 
My  aching  heart, 

"God  sends  but  night"; 
Then  the  sun  shone  forth 
And  enwrapped  the  earth 

In  golden  light. 

I  said  in  my  heart, 
My  breaking  heart, 

That  death  is  king; 
And  behold!  the  earth 
Felt  the  south  wind's  warmth, 

And  lo!  'twas  spring! 


[42] 


LINCOLN    AND    OTHERS 


Apocalypse 


There's  enough  of  God 

In  the  heart  of  a  rose, 

In  the  smile  of  a  child, 

In  the  dewy  blossom  of  dawn, 

To  prove 

That  beauty  is  the  soul  of  Him, 

That  love  is  His  sceptre, 

And  that  all  things  created  by  Him 

Face,  not  the  night, 

But  an  eternal  morning. 


[43] 


LINCOLN    AND    OTHERS 

Friendliness 

The  wonder  of  the  mighty  pyramids, 

The  stateliness  of  Athens'  noblest  shrine, 

The  majesty  of  Taurus,  grim  and  old, 

The  grandeur  of  the  castles  by  the  Rhine — 

I  quite  forget  them  all  if  I  may  hear 

A  purple  martin's  note  of  friendly  cheer. 


[44] 


LINCOLN    AND    OTHERS 

In  Blossom-Time 

In  blossom-time,  can  any  say 
That  life  is  desolate  and  gray? 
When  cherry  boughs  are  drifted  snow, 
When  springtime  couriers,  singing,  go 
Through  orchard  lanes,  which  for  a  day 
Are  very  heaven,  who  could  lay 
Upon  the  gods  of  far-away 
One  word  of  blame  for  fret  or  woe — 
In  blossom-time? 

What  man  could  hate  or  envy  know 
When  apple-blossoms  burst  and  blow? 
When,  free  at  last,  the  kindly  May 
Endeavours  Winter's  debts  to  pay — 
In  blossom-time? 


[45] 


LINCOLN    AND    OTHERS 

Poet  to  Cynic 

You  rail,  proud  cynic,  at  the  songs  we  sing; 
You  say  the  world  cares  nothing  for  our  lays, 
Reserving  for  old  Omar  all  your  praise. 
That  may  be  true;  but,  when  the  winter's  sting 
At  last  is  tamed,  and  when  the  joyous  spring 
Returns  to  earth,  long  desolate  and  cold, 
And  bids  the  lilies,  bursting  from  the  mould, 
Proclaim  that  Beauty  lives — then  do  you  fling 
Your  heartless  jibes  at  those  who  hear  the  song, 
Who   see   the   gleam,   who   trust   the   springtime 

hope? 
Let  those  who  will,  in  faithless  silence  grope — 
And  let  those  sing  whose  hearts  with  faith  are 

strong ! 


[46] 


LINCOLN     AND    OTHERS 

To  John  Burroughs 

In  Memory 
We  waste  our  days  with  creeds  and  empty  words, 
Pretending  God  will  give  attention  due. 
Alas,  He  does  not  hear!     He  turned  to  you, 
Who  knew  and  loved  His  roses  and  His  birds. 
You  had  no  time  for  proudly  pious  vows, 
So  humbled  were  you  by  the  dawn's  surprise. 
You  searched  no  book  for  miracles:  your  eyes 
Found    wonders   strange    among   the    blossomed 

boughs. 
Bequeath  to  us  your  wisdom,  prophet  sage, 
That  we  at  last  may  learn  the  way  of  life, 
That  we  may  not  be  stifled  by  the  strife 
Of  brutal  men,  in  this  inglorious  age. 
Although  your  feet  now  tread  immortal  ways, 
Your  spirit  still  shall  light  our  clouded  days. 


[47] 


LINCOLN    AND    OTHERS 

Blind 

Oh,  falsely  pious,  bound  with  sombre  vows, 
You  rail  at  beauty,  hold  it  sin  to  smile; 

'Tis  all  in  vain  the  Maytime  wreathes  its  boughs 
With  snowy  bloom — you  hold  your  eyes  the  while 
To  musty  books !    How  can  you  reconcile 

Your  dull,  grey  faith  with  these  gold-sprinkled  ways, 
With  this  gay  orchard  beauty,  mile  on  mile? 

Your  God  is  not  the  God  of  these  ambrosial  days, 

When  every  bush  and  tree  is  full  of  joy  and  praise. 


[48] 


LINCOLN    AND    OTHERS 


The  Poet's  Call 


By  day  the  fields  and  meadows  cry, 
By  night  the  bright  stars  plead; 

He  hears  the  message  from  on  high, 
And  to  the  call  gives  heed. 

The  roses  tremble  as  he  nears, 
And  cry,  "Rejoice,  rejoice!" 

The  rocks  break  forth  as  he  appears, 
"God  sends  a  Voice,  a  Voice!" 


[49] 


LINCOLN    AND    OTHERS 

To  Wordsworth 

The  daisies  and  the  dancing  daffodils 
Were  friends  of  yours;  to  you  all  things  were  fair 
In  heaven  and  earth,  God's  thoughts  were  every- 
where : 
And  yet  your  chief  delights  were  woods  and  hills. 
You  walked,  elate,  amid  their  peaceful  shade, 
Though  war  was  raging  in  the  land  of  kings; 
Your  mind  was  set  on  dawns  and  flowering  springs, 
On  sunny  noons,  whose  light  can  never  fade 
For  him  whose  thought  is  high  as  are  the  skies. 
How  much  we  need  you  now,  great  poet  heart! 
You  learned  to  live  within,  to  dwell  apart, 
Content  with  stars  and  morning's  glad  surprise. 
Look  now  on  us,  whose  frettings  never  cease, 
And  point  the  way  to  reverence  and  peace. 


[50] 


LINCOLN    AND    OTHERS 

Blind  Eyes 

"Great  Pan  is  dead!"  they  cried.    And  sad-robed 

priests 
In  long  processions  gloried  in  his  death. 
But  even  as  they  went  their  way,  the  breath 
Of  God  blew  over  hill  and  vale,  and  feasts 
Of  loveliness  were  set  for  men.     June  spread 
Upon  the  earth  a  carpeting  of  green, 
And  where  was  bleakness,   fields  of  gold   were 

seen. 
The  priests  saw  not:  they  cried,  "Great  Pan  is 

dead!" 


[51] 


LINCOLN    AND    OTHERS 

Up  and  Down  the  River 

Up  and  down  the  river, 
In  these  Junetime  days, 

Fairy  dreams  and  voices 
Haunt  the  grassy  ways. 

There  are  songs  for  sadness, 
There  are  smiles  for  tears, 

There  is  balm  for  sorrow, 
Peace  for  troubled  years. 

Still  some  posies  linger 
In  the  shady  nooks, 

And  the  birds  teach  wisdom 
Never  found  in  books. 

Daisies  throng  the  meadow 
Yonder  where  the  sun 

Tells  the  happy  neighbours 
Summer's  well  begun. 

Up  and  down  the  river 
Who  could  hint  at  grief 

Where  dear,  loving  Nature 
Speaks  through  every  leaf! 

[52] 


LINCOLN    AND    OTHERS 

Though  to-morrow  bring  me 
Care  and  shadows  grey, 

Up  and  down  the  river — 
There's  my  heart  to-day. 


[53] 


LINCOLN    AND     OTHERS 

King  of  an  Acre 

A  king  of  bluest  blood  am  I, 
Though  gold  and  purple  pass  me  by; 
By  right  divine  I  wield  the  rod 
Above  this  realm  of  sod  and  clod. 

My  palace  home  is  passing  plain — 
A  simple  cottage  by  the  lane; 
Beneath  its  roof  what  hours  are  spent 
Of  kingly  thought  and  proud  content! 

My  Queen,  what  royal  garb  has  she — 
The  robes  of  worth  and  purity; 
A  rod  of  love  her  fair  hands  hold, 
A  sceptre  mightier  than  of  gold. 

No  hunting  grounds  my  kingdom  knows 
I  find  fair  sport  in  fat  bean  rows, 
And  in  the  maze  of  bush  and  vine, 
And  tangled  wealth  of  eglantine. 

What  need  have  I  of  golden  crown, 
Of  jewelled  throne  or  fair  renown? 
I  look  at  none  with  jealous  eye, 
For  who  has  more  of  sun  and  sky? 

[54] 


LINCOLN    AND    OTHERS 

Oh,  who  would  not  a  monarch  be 
Of  cot  and  hearth,  of  bush  and  tree! 
He  shall  not  ask  a  beggar's  dole 
Who  has  an  acre — and  his  soul. 


[55] 


Dawn 


LINCOLN    AND    OTHERS 


The  long,  long  night  has  passed; 

The  hills  are  touched  with  gold; 
Come,  let  us  feed  our  hearts 

Before  the  day  grows  old. 
All  rapturous  the  world — 

But  lo!  the  charm  has  gone: 
The  greedy  sun  has  had  its  fill 

From  the  glory-feast  of  dawn. 


[56] 


LINCOLN    AND    OTHERS 


Fundamentals 


A  little  house,  a  bush,  a  tree; 
A  laughing  child  to  play  with  me. 

A  task  that  fills  the  fragrant  days, 
But  leaving  time  for  prayer  and  praise. 

A  garden  bright  with  pink  and  gold, 
Full  harvest  as  the  year  grows  old. 

For  every  day  some  bookly  gain; 
For  twilight,  music's  sweet  refrain. 

A  dozen  friends  with  gifts  of  cheer, 
And  love,  more  tender  year  by  year. 

With  these,  and  springtime  at  the  door- 
What  mortal  man  could  ask  for  more ! 


[57] 


LINCOLN    AND    OTHERS 

The  Kingdom 

Where  is  the  Kingdom?  asked  the  pompous  priest, 
Weighted  with  lore,  and  spent  with  fast  and  feast. 
The  lowly  Christ  on  his  pretensions  smiled, 
And  simply  said,  "In  the  heart  of  a  little  child." 


[58] 


LINCOLN    AND    OTHERS 

Hut  Happiness 

Let  men  of  pride  rush  madly  on  and  on, 
And  men  of  daring  sail  the  vengeful  sea; 

In  this  plain  hut,  with  quietude  of  dawn 
And  starry  eve  my  friends,  is  joy  for  me. 

The  hollyhocks  are  comrades  I  can  trust, 
The  daisies  never  fail  me  in  my  need; 

Content  and  health  enhance  my  scanty  crust; 
Though  poor  in  gold,  my  soul  is  rich  indeed. 


[59] 


LINCOLN    AND    OTHERS 

To  a  Thousand  Year  Old  Rim 

What  stories  you  could  tell,  enduring  tree, 
Of  men  and  kingdoms,  battles  won  and  lost, 
Of  new  found  lands,  old  nations  spent  by  time! 
Bold  Charlemagne  was  lord  when  you  were  young 
And  Luther  shook  the  world  as  you  grew  strong. 
Columbus  sailed  from  Spain  and  found  new  shores 
Awaiting  him;  you  gave  him  welcome  here 
Befitting  him  who  set  man's  spirit  free. 
Embattled  redskins  filled  our  sires  with  fears; 
You  stood  above  the  strife,  secure  and  calm. 
When  Washington  was  called  to  rule  our  realm 
You  were  an  ancient,  hoary  with  the  years. 
What  sage  experience !     And  still  you  stand 
To  note  the  march  of  freedom  through  our  land. 


[60] 


LINCOLN    AND    OTHERS 

Corn 

Of  ancient  lineage  am  I, 

Sister  of  the  forest, 

Daughter  of  primeval  summer. 

Memories  of  rushing  buffaloes  haunt  me, 

Red  men  flit  across  my  vision. 

I  can  tell  tales  of  old  massacres, 

Of  voyageurs  lost  but  for  my  succour. 

For  me  forests  fall, 
Railways  extend  themselves, 
And  monster  shipyards  arise. 

For  me  peoples  wage  war 
And  the  rivers  run  red. 

I  am  astounded  at  the  slaughter  because  of  me, 
And  stand  aghast  at  the  mighty  holocaust  of  com- 
mercial greed. 
But  for  me  all  might  have  been  peace, 
With  quiet  fields  and  rustling  grasses 
And  love  songs  and  sunset  musings. 

Woe  is  me !     They  have  bared  me 

And  set  me  up  as  a  queen  of  lust 

In  their  drunken  feast,  though  my  days  have  known 

But  the  crystal  dew  and  the  sunshine. 

[61] 


LINCOLN    AND    OTHERS 

Woe  is  me !     The  streets  are  full  of  crying 
Because  of  the  strife  of  the  traders, 
Who  have  stripped  and  ravished  me 
Who  am  first-born  daughter  of  summer. 

Woe  is  me!     Before  the  nations  arose 

Children  played  about  me, 

And  I  mingled  my  laughter  with  their  singing; 

Women  went  out  to  the  harvest  with  their  mates, 

And  there  were  merry-makings 

And  songs  of  ingathering. 

Alas !  that  men  have  stripped  me  and  ravished  me 

And  have  gone  forth  to  battle  for  my  beauty. 

God  will  avenge  me.     He  will  strike  them. 

With  fiery  bolts  from  heaven  shall  He  stop  them; 

And  again  there  shall  be  quiet  fields 

And  rustling  grasses  and  sunset  songs 

And  sweet  night  crooning. 


[62] 


LINCOLN     AND     OTHERS 


Romance 


I  have  not  sung  of  Arcady, 

Because  I  live  there  still. 

I  have  not  lauded  love's  sweet  ways, 

Nor  praised  the  charm  of  summer  days, 

For  love  has  not  deserted  me, 

And  summer  has  not  ceased  to  be: 

I  have  not  sung  of  Arcady, 

Because  I  live  there  still. 


[63] 


LINCOLN    AND    OTHERS 

Humdrum 

Are  they  worth  while,  these  tasteless  everydays, 
Replete  with  tasks  that  warp  the  very  soul? 
For  all  this  toil  is  there  some  splendid  goal? 
Do  they  speak  true  who  have  but  words  of  praise 
For  those  who  drudge,  nor  lift  their  heads  to  sing, 
For  those  who  meekly  yield  and  ask  not  why, 
Who,  tombed  in  walls  of  greed,  know  not  the  sky, 
Know  not  the  spell  of  dawn,  the  thrill  of  spring? 
Heaven  forbid !     All  things  in  earth  are  wrong 
If  toil  is  blest  that  stills  the  voice  of  song! 


[64] 


LINCOLN    AND    OTHERS 

Pilots 

When  weary  of  the  ugliness  of  life — 
The  glaring  streets,  the  tomblike  walls  of  grey, 
The  surging  crowds,  whose  mad,  unseemly  strife 
Becomes  a  wild  carouse  when  gone  the  day — 
What  is  there  that  can  lure  our  thoughts  away? 
Keats  holds  the  key  to  far-off  realms  of  gold, 
And  Shelley  to  the  isles  of  deathless  May; 
And  if  one  seeks  for  some  adventure  bold, 
"Don  Juan"  will  steer  the  boat  while  new,  strange 
worlds  unfold. 


[65] 


LINCOLN    AND    OTHERS 


Release 


I  am  weary  of  streets  and  cities, 

With  their  palaces  of  plunder; 

I  would  go  where  no  man  can  fret  me, 

Where  no  gossiping  tongue  can  beset  me; 

I  am  hungry  for  tempest  and  thunder, 

For  some  fastness  high  up  in  the  mountains. 

I  am  tired  of  the  rippling  of  fountains, 

I  am  worn  with  the  lilting  of  ditties, 

I  am  starving  for  splendour  and  wonder ! 

Cities  were  built  for  dead  men, 

Slain  by  the  greed  of  getting; 

And  streets  were  made  for  mad  men, 

For  men  without  eyes,  for  sad  men: 

I  will  leave  their  noise  and  their  fretting 

For  some  height  where  the  dawn,  at  breaking, 

Announces  strange  worlds,  where  the  shaking 

And  shimmering  stars  have  led  men 

To  dream  of  a  heaven  besetting. 


[66] 


LINCOLN    AND    OTHERS 

Prayer  of  the  Poor 

Written  in  a  City  Park 

For  the  joy  of  cool,  green  places, 
For  the  smiles  of  kindly  faces, 

We,  the  poor,  give  thanks  to-day; 
We,  the  care-beridden  toilers, 
We,  the  broken,  prisoned  moilers 

Would  not,  thankless,  go  our  way. 

But  we  want  the  scent  of  roses 
For  our  joy,  as  each  day  closes, 

Lest  our  drudging  starve  our  souls; 
For  our  children  give  us  flowers, 
Give  us  rest  and  laughing  hours, 

Give  us  homes  and  hearths  as  goals. 

We  would  work,  but  not  with  sighing, 
We  would  build,  but  not  by  dying — 

We  are  not  dumb  brutes,  but  men! 
For  our  errors  grant  us  pardon, 
But,  O  Lord,  let  Eden  garden, 

With  its  beauty,  come  again. 


[67] 


LINCOLN    AND    OTHERS 

With  Gratitude  for  "Leaves  of  Grass" 

If  I  could  sail  far  out  upon  some  sea, 

Or  in  some  fronded  island  dwell  alone, 

I'd  bid  farewell  to  all  anxiety, 

And  let  one  day  for  twenty  years  atone. 

I'd  cast  across  the  world  this  heart  of  stone  i 

But  since  within  these  walls  I  must  be  pent, 

I  take  old  Walt,  and  read,  and  am  content. 


[68] 


LINCOLN    AND    OTHERS 

The  Lonely  Way 

For  every  man  there  stretches,  through  the  years, 
A  lonely  way.     He  may  have  hosts  of  friends 
Who  vow  to  love  and  trust  him  till  life  ends, 
Still  must  he  walk  alone  the  path  of  fears 
And  doubts  and  weariness.     The  way  appears 
To  childhood's  eyes  a  fairy  path  of  dreams 
Which,  thronged  with  gay  companions,  ever  seems 
More  richly  promising  and  free  from  tears. 
But  manhood's  dawn  brings  disillusionment; 
Friends  drop  away,  by  circumstances  prest. 
By  life's  high  noon  he  hastens  toward  the  west 
With  face  stern-set,  alone,  by  hard  bonds  pent. 
How  happy  they  who  can  their  dreams  renew 
When  youth  is  past,  when  cherished  friends  are  few ! 


[69] 


LINCOLN    AND    OTHERS 

The  Procession 

Time  hurries  on.     We  fret  and  cry,  "Oh,  stay!" 
But  Time  replies:  "We  serve  not  yesterday; 
A  hundred  years  together  must  we  tread; 
Now  would  you  halt,  lie  prostrate  with  the  dead? 
Our  goal  lies  far  beyond  that  distant  hill, 
Then   on — and   on;    and  would   you   now   stand 

still?" 
Time  hurries  on;  we  follow.     Youth  and  maid 
Would  linger  long  in  love's  delicious  shade, 
But  Time  says  no.     The  strong,  ambitious  man 
Asks  but  for  leisure  to  perfect  his  plan; 
But  no,  Time  stern  replies.     The  hand  of  death 
Lays  low  a  friend;  we  ask,  with  halted  breath, 
For  but  a  day  to  bear  her  to  her  grave; 
Time  frowns:  "No  act  can  now  her  spirit  save; 
Still  on,"  he  cries,  "we  shall  not  find  the  dawn 
Till  all  the  hours  and  all  the  days  are  gone." 


[70] 


LINCOLN    AND    OTHERS 

To  the  Poets 

As  city  dwellers,  pent  with  dust  and  heat, 

Repair  to  mountain  heights  to  slake  their  thirst, 

To  feed  their  famished  souls,  so  we,  fret-curst, 

Come  to  your  founts  to  drink  your  wisdom  sweet. 

We  weary  of  the  drab  and  toilsome  marts; 

At  eventide  our  spirits  drag,  forlorn; 

Then  what  a  boon  to  find  your  songs  of  morn, 

Of  buoyant  hope !    You  lift  our  drooping  hearts 

From  bitter  thoughts  to  psalms  of  love  and  praise; 

Cares  fly  away  and  trouble  seeks  its  den, 

While  youth  returns  to  light  our  path  again; 

Our  feet  are  set  upon  eternal  ways. 

Pure  Keats,  blithe  Burns,  and  Shelley,  morning  star, 

Desert  us  not,  who  still  must  travel  far. 


[71] 


LINCOLN    AND    OTHERS 

To  Quintus  Horatius  Flaccus 

The  hosts  that  royal  Caesar  led 

Against  a  stubborn  land 
Were  doughty  and  invincible 

As  was  his  mighty  hand; 
But  time  has  passed,  and  where  are  they 
Who  went  so  fearless  to  the  fray? 

Their  battles  are  as  echoes  now 

And  they  are  less  than  dust, 
Long  centuries  ago  their  spears 

Were  eaten  up  of  rust, 
And  he  who  led  so  dauntlessly 
Sleeps  sound  and  long  beside  the  sea. 

But,  Horace,  what  delight  is  ours 
Who  read  your  graceful  songs! 

The  centuries  may  come  and  go, 
But  time  to  you  belongs, 

Who  trusted  not  to  gleaming  spears 

To  light  your  way  through  deathless  years. 


[72] 


LINCOLN    AND    OTHERS 


The  Builder 


(Horati  Carmina,  Lib.  Ill,  30) 

This  fair  structure  that  I  build 

Will  not  feel  the  tooth  of  time; 
Bronze  may  yield  to  wind  and  frost, 

Not  this  work  of  golden  rhyme. 
Years  shall  come  and  years  shall  go, 

But  my  fame  shall  never  die; 
I  shall  live,  though  Juno's  shrine 

In  the  driven  dust  shall  lie. 
Lowly  was  my  native  land, 

But  for  me  the  ages  long! 
Lyric  muse,  who  touched  my  lips, 

Crown  the  king  of  Latin  song. 


[73] 


LINCOLN    AND    OTHERS 


The  Eternal 


The  dust  is  ages  deep 
On  boastful  Babel  land, 

And  Cleopatra's  wealth 
Is  lost  in  drifted  sand, 

And  paralysed  for  aye 
Is  Caesar's  sceptred  hand. 

But  Greece — what  glory  hers 
For  art  and  mystic  lore ! 

Old  iEschylus  still  sings, 
And  Plato  opes  the  door 

To  Wisdom's  high  retreat 

For  man — still  drunk  with  gore, 

Jerusalem,  once  proud, 
Is  now  a  beggar  throng; 

Its  walls  are  broken  down 

Though  once  serenely  strong; 

But  still  the  air  is  sweet 

With  plaintive  Hebrew  song. 


[74] 


LINCOLN    AND    OTHERS 

"Paradise  Enow" 

Give  me  true  friends,  good  books,  both  new  and  old, 
An  afternoon  of  talk,  serene  and  long; 
Then  add  an  hour  for  dining,  one  for  song, 
And  you  may  take  all  else.     My  bag  of  gold, 
My  silver  plate — let  these  be  freely  doled 
To  those  who  lack  the  prize  of  loving  friends. 
True  comradeship  enjoys,  proud  wealth  pretends; 
Life's  choicest  treasures  are  not  bought  and  sold. 
Thus  shall  I  go,  untroubled,  down  the  years : 
If  riches  fail,  my  friends  may  heed  my  plea, 
And  if  I  reap  a  heritage  of  tears, 
Their  words  will  calm  my  grief.     If  life  should  be 
By  Prosper  blest,  my  days  devoid  of  fears, — 
With  loyal  friends,  earth  will  be  heaven  for  me. 


[75] 


LINCOLN    AND    OTHERS 

The  Day  Is  Brief 

The  day  is  brief,  from  dawn  to  dusk, 

The  night  is  briefer  still, 
And  life  is  just  a  going  up, 

And  going  down,  a  hill. 

But,  oh,  what  dreams  we  dream  at  dawn ! 

And  rest,  how  sweet,  at  night! 
And  going  down  a  hill  is  good — 

With  other  hills  in  sight! 


[76} 


LINCOLN    AND    OTHERS 

Spectres 

The  splendour  and  the  loveliness  of  earth 

Must  pass  away:  spring  days  were  fleet; 

Triumphant  summer's  glory  yielded  soon 

Before  autumnal  shadows:  and  the  boon 

Of  frosty  morns  and  middays  cool  and  sweet, 

Which  autumn  brought,  now  passes,  with  the  dearth 

Of  bleak  November.     Where  the  bluebird  late 

Announced  the  dawn  of  spring  are  moulding  leaves 

And  grass;  our  thoughts  are  drab  and  dark. 

The  snow  shall  come  to  lend  its  cheer,  but  stark 

And  desolate  the  trees:  fair  nature  grieves 

Before  the  threat  of  winter.     At  the  gate 

Of  every  heart  a  spectre  lifts  its  hands; 

And  every  mortal  sees,  and  seeing  understands. 


t?7] 


LINCOLN    AND    OTHERS 

//  Winter  Comes 

If  winter  comes,  and  winds  blow  wild  and  chill, 
If  queenly  roses  perish  with  the  cold, 
Be  well  assured  that  from  the  ashen  mould 
Shall  bourgeon  lovely  gardens  that  shall  fill 
The  earth  with  beauty.     For  the  wood  and  hill, 
By  north  wind  shorn,  bright  robes  of  living  green 
Shall  soon  be  wrought,  unheard,  unseen, 
By  Him  who  turns  destruction  to  His  will. 
If  winter  comes — alas,  and  it  shall  come! — 
Men's  hearts  will  ache,  by  lonely  brooding  pent; 
In  that  bleak  hour  shall  every  choir  be  dumb 
That  fills  our  hearts  to-day  with  sweet  content: 
Yet  Life  still  reigns,  and  soon  the  year  will  bring 
Maytime  and  joy,  with  all  things  blossoming. 


[78] 


LINCOLN    AND    OTHERS 


Lyric 


When  gardens  die  and  sunshine  fails 

And  winds  of  winter  blow, 
'Tis  time  to  kindle  joyous  fires 

And  trust  their  friendly  glow 
To  lead  us  out,  by  Sea  o'  Dreams, 

Beyond  the  Sunset  Bar — 
Then  back  again,  to  Port  o'  Home, 

Where  love  and  laughter  are. 


[79] 


LINCOLN    AND    OTHERS 


Winter  Harvest 


When  summer  days  were  here 
And  earth  was  arched  with  blue, 

My  heart  was  filled  with  fear, 
My  head  was  crowned  with  rue. 

But  now  that  winter  reigns, 

Despoiled  each  flower  and  tree, 

I  count  the  summer's  gains, 
And  joy  abides  with  me. 


[80] 


LINCOLN    AND    OTHERS 

Trust  the  Great  Artist 

Trust  the  Great  Artist.     He 

Who  paints  the  sky  and  sea 

With  shadowed  blue,  who  clothes  the  land 

In  garb  of  green,  and  in  the  spring 

Sets  all  earth  blossoming — 

He  guides  your  destiny. 

The  magic  hand 

That  colours  dawn  with  flaming  rose, 

That  ere  the  falling  night, 

For  every  soul's  delight, 

Pours  out  the  streaming  gold — 

That  hand,  too,  holds  your  life. 

His  grasp,  amid  the  strife, 
Would  shape  you  to  His  will: 
Let  Him  His  wish  fulfil, 
What  though  the  testings  irk, 
Fret  not;  mar  not  His  work. 

Trust  the  Great  Artist,  He 
Who  made  the  earth  and  sea. 


[81] 


LINCOLN    AND    OTHERS 


Evidence 


"Where  is  God?"  inquired  the  mind; 
"To  His  presence  I  am  blind. 
I  can  tell  each  blade  of  grass, 
Read  the  tempests  as  they  pass; 
I  have  learned  what  metals  lie 
In  the  earth's  deep  mystery; 
Every  voice  of  field  and  wood 
I  have  heard  and  understood; 
Ancient  secrets  of  the  sea 
Are  no  longer  dark  to  me: 
But  the  wonders  of  the  earth 
Bring  no  thought  of  God  to  birth." 
Then  the  heart  spake  quietly t 
"Hast  thou  thought  of  Calvary?" 

"Where  is  God?"  inquired  the  mind; 
"To  His  presence  I  am  blind. 
I  have  scanned  each  star  and  sun, 
Traced  the  certain  course  they  run; 
I  have  weighed  them  in  my  scale, 
And  can  tell  when  each  will  fail; 
From  the  caverns  of  the  night 
I  have  brought  new  worlds  to  light; 
[82] 


LINCOLN    AND    OTHERS 

I  have  measured  earth  and  sky, 
Read  each  zone  with  steady  eye: 
But  no  sign  of  God  appears 
In  the  glory  of  the  spheres." 
But  the  heart  spake  wistfully, 
"Hast  thou  measured  Calvary?" 


[83] 


LINCOLN    AND    OTHERS 

Revelation 

Say  not  that  death  is  king,  that  night  is  lord, 
That  loveliness  is  passing,  beauty  dies; 
Nor  tell  me  hope's  a  vain,  deceptive  dream 
Fate  lends  to  life,  a  pleasing,  luring  gleam 
To  light  awhile  the  earth's  despondent  skies, 
Till  death  brings  swift  and  sure  its  dread  reward. 
Say  not  that  youth  deceives,  but  age  is  true, 
That  roses  quickly  pass,  while  cypress  bides, 
That  happiness  is  foolish,  grief  is  wise, 
That  stubborn  dust  shall  choke  our  human  cries. 
Death  tells  new  worlds,  and  life  immortal  hides 
Beyond  the  veil,  which  shall  all  wrongs  undo. 
This  was  the  tale  God  breathed  to  me  at  dawn 
When  flooding  sunrise  told  that  night  was  gone. 


[84] 


LINCOLN    AND    OTHERS 

In  Memory 

Sleep,  Rupert  Brooke,  of  England  born, 
By  war  from  your  dear  gardens  torn; 
Though  far  from  Britain  lies  your  mould, 
The  love  you  won  shall  not  grow  cold; 
The  lonely  island  where  you  rest 
By  every  freeman  shall  be  blest. 

Sleep,  Alan  Seeger.     You  were  true, 
You  did  not  fail  your  rendezvous. 
Nor  was  your  sacrifice  in  vain; 
Your  tragic  loss  was  mankind's  gain; 
So  long  as  earthland  shall  be  free, 
Your  name  shall  live  in  memory. 

Sleep,  John  McCrae.     We  heard  your  call; 

The  torch  you  lighted  did  not  fall; 

Inspired  by  your  despairing  breath, 

We  seized  the  sword,  met  hell  and  death, 

And  drove  that  vain  and  cruel  foe 

From  Flanders  Field,  "where  poppies  blow." 


[85] 


LINCOLN    AND    OTHERS 

Revolt 

Why  prattle  of  the  pageantry  of  Rome? 

Why  celebrate  anon  the  isles  of  Greece? 

Is  all  of  worth  beneath  some  classic  dome, 

Or  when  did  God  bid  inspiration  cease? 

Old  Caesar  is  as  dead  as  are  his  slaves; 

Wise  Plato  set  no  limits  to  men's  thought; 

Columbus  fled  from  bonds  and  crossed  the  waves 

To  gain  a  lore  tradition  had  not  taught; 

The  Man  of  Galilee  refused  to  wear 

The  shackles  haughty  priests  prescribed  for  him, 

His  spirit  was  as  free  as  was  the  air 

That  played  about  the  storied  Gerizim. 

New  thoughts,  new  dreams,  new  duties  lure  us  on 

Who  hold  no  sunset  fairer  than  the  dawn. 


[86] 


LINCOLN    AND    OTHERS 

In  an  Age  of  Science 

The  little  world  of  olden  days  is  gone, 
A  thousand  universes  come  to  light; 
The  eyes  of  science  penetrate  the  night 
And  bring  good  tidings  of  eternal  dawn: 
There  is  no  night,  they  find,  there  is  no  death, 
But  life  begetting  ever  fuller  life; 
They  look  still  deeper,  and  amid  the  strife 
They  note  pervading  harmony.     The  breath 
Of  morning  sweeps  the  wastes  of  earth, 
And  we  who  talked  of  age  become  as  gods, 
Scanning  the  spheres,  discoursing  of  the  birth 
Of  countless  suns.     No  longer  human  clods, 
We  stand  alert  and  speak  direct  to  Him 
Who  hides  no  more  behind  dumb  seraphim. 


[87] 


LINCOLN    AND    OTHERS 

Time 

My  name  is  Time.     Eternity,  my  sire, 
Appointed  me  to  tell  the  flying  years: 
Ere  nations  grew,  rude  men,  beset  with  fears, 
Lived  out  their  lives  in  caves  and  flooding  mire; 
Old  Egypt  rose  and  won  resplendent  fame, 
Great  Babylon,  Assyria  the  proud; 
Weak  Macedon  grew  strong,  then  meekly  bowed 
Before  the  spell  of  Caesar's  mighty  name; 
For  royal  Rome  smote  all  before  her  face, 
Till  Saxon  prowess  cast  her  legions  down. 
They  come  and  go,  these  nations  of  renown — 
And  I  abide,  who  have  no  biding  place. 
Time  flies?     Not  so;  for  I  remain  to  say 
That  all  are  dead  who  flourished  yesterday. 


[88] 


LINCOLN    AND    OTHERS 

The  Melting  Pot 

When  brave  Ulysses  left  his  native  isle 
To  sail  the  shining  main,  to  seek  new  shores 
And  unknown  countries,  bursting  golden  doors 
To  fair  new  realms  that  basked  in  summer's  smile, 
He  saw  no  stranger  sights  than  we  to-day 
In  these  our  city  streets,  where  earth  has  poured 
From  every  farthest  land  her  human  horde : 
Proud  Nipponese,  sojourners  from  Cathay, 
Shrewd  Greeks,  and  Turks,  and  roving  Syrians; 
Gay  Spanish  dons  and  dour  Scotch  peasantry, 
High-hearted  French,  dark  rogues  from  Barbary; 
No  race  or  breed  is  barred  by  selfish  bans. 
Here,  where  the  dream  of  liberty  had  birth, 
God  dreams  His  dream,  democracy  for  earth. 


[89] 


LINCOLN    AND    OTHERS 

Upon  Reading  a  Volume  of  Ancient 
Chinese  Poetry 

And  here,  in  this  old  book,  we  find  discussed 
The  themes  we  choose  to-day:  business  and  toil, 
Knowledge  and  fame,  weariness  born  of  moil, 
Daydreams  of  youth,  visions  of  love  and  lust; 
Whether  it  pays  to  work  that  one  may  live, 
Whether  it  pays  to  live,  if  work  is  all; 
How  one  may  think  great  thoughts  in  one  room 

small, 
How  one  may  gain  great  wealth,  if  he  but  give; 
Here  one  may  learn  the  foolishness  of  pride, 
The  curse  of  gold;  and  here  are  saintly  prayers 
For  high  celestial  joys:  by  mystic  stairs 
These  old  philosophers  and  poets  tried 
To  burst  the  doors  of  heaven,  as  do  we — 
And  as  they  will  who  after  us  shall  be. 


[90] 


